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IV
THE GREAT SIREN
A sound comes echoing, startling, low,
Billowing mellowly, hark to it grow
And over the courts roll to and fro.
Swelling, spreading, aspiring, it wails,
Louder, thinner, wilder it trails.
Through resounding porches high
Now it shrieks and rends the sky.
Now its fury spent it falls,
Note by note its plaint recalls,
Now it shudders to a groan,
Lower, mellower, to a moan,
Long drawn out, a keening cry!
Have we heard Pan die?
